


Lingers, Undefined

by kimchispaghetti (soondubu)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soondubu/pseuds/kimchispaghetti
Summary: It’s 2024, and EXO has about run their course. The members are splintering off, settling down, forging the paths they’d dreamed of (or not) when they’d started on such a crazy ride. Some loose ends remain though, severed rather than frayed with time. Chanyeol has spent years pretending the wear is natural rather than self-inflicted, a product of distance and divergent roads. It only takes two simple words to shatter that reality and force him to choose whether it’s harder to keep ties or to cut them.





	Lingers, Undefined

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 2015 round of LJ's kpop_olymfics for the prompt "Madly" by FT Island.
> 
> 19/01/13: I recently rediscovered that I also made something of an OST for this fic. Please [tune in](https://open.spotify.com/user/onett/playlist/4W6eaz6YnfHdCxo9LVZZJF?si=gDdZYGgXRy2vSo4gpFrIBg) while you read, if you like (and if you have Spotify).

> [That wall] might be breached sometime in the future, but for now the only real conversation between them was the roots that had already grown low and deep, under the wall, where they could not be broken.
> 
> For now that they could not be together, they must be infinitely apart, and what had been sure and unshakable was now fragile and insubstantial.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> —Orson Scott Card, _Ender’s Game_  
> 

 

 

 

Chanyeol awoke on a Saturday morning, still hazy from his dream. The details slipped away quickly, water through his fingers; the harder he gripped the quicker they spilled. _A sea of light, pulse pounding in his ears, a hand reaching to take his—_

Oh.

It was _that_ dream again.

Chanyeol opened his hands to push back the covers. From behind him came a small, soft groan and the sound of stretching. “Mm... What time is it?”

“Just after nine,” Chanyeol said, checking his phone for messages after checking the time. Kyungsoo’s name was at the top of his inbox. His heart clenched tight when he read the subject line. Ignoring it, he immediately opened an email from his manager instead. Maybe there would be news on the bid they’d put in for that new drama. Before it even finished loading, a pair of arms snaked around his middle and a small chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“I thought you’d taken the weekend off?”

“This could be important.” But it wasn’t.

“I bet I can think of something more important~”

“I don’t know. I think a job is pretty important.” As the words left his mouth, stinging his tongue along the way, Chanyeol tried to stop them. Halfway through the sentence, he simply accepted his fate. “I need to talk to my manager.”

“So call him,” she said, a bite in her voice that was more like a puppy than the shark she always tried to be. She’d never quite mastered the art of banter, always too sensitive to his sarcasm and his frustration. But then, he was frustrated lately more often than not. The beginning of the end for the group was on the horizon, though nobody was actually talking about it yet. Not even Kyungsoo, who with time had only gotten better at picking just the right moments to aim between the ribs.

“Look, why don’t you head home, all right? Change, freshen up. We can go out for lunch–”

“You’re _not_ doing this to me again.”

“I’m not saying the weekend is ruined. I just have a couple of things to do.”

“That’s what you say every weekend. Then it turns into me waiting around all day just to have you call and cancel. _Last_ week it wasn’t even a phone call. You–”

“If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t be doing it, okay?”

“ _Chanyeol._ ”

He sighed heavily through his nose, and reached to set his phone back on the bedside table. He knew better than to hope the lurch to his feet would be the most difficult thing he’d do all day. It was a lot better than fighting, though. “You either understand, or you don’t. I’m going to go make breakfast.”

Cooking always soothed him. It had just enough of a nostalgic tinge to keep it pleasant without bringing him down. Lucky, since it was something he needed to do every day. She was a terrible cook. He seemed to attract a lot of those. It didn’t matter so much now of course, as cooking for two instead of ten was far less of a production. He cracked two eggs into the pan, and the sizzle was almost loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

Down the hall, the bedroom door slammed. Chanyeol started and the jerk of his arm loosened the eggs in the pan. Quick, stomping footsteps counted down the moments before she emerged, hair coiffed but eyes wild and determined. She was dressed, and holding one of his suitcases. “I’m done,” she said. “I don’t understand, and I’m done.”

Chanyeol swallowed and turned back to his eggs. The whites were cooked through, flapping at the edges as they browned too quickly. He had the sudden urge to pop both yolks with his spatula. “Then go,” he said. His tongue tucked his lower lip into his mouth for one more moment of hesitation. In that moment, life seemed to hold its breath. “We’re done.”

There was no sound but the ringing in his ears as she stormed out of the apartment. Chanyeol watched the edges of his eggs crisp until they were burnt. It was the sight, not the smell, of smoke that finally forced him to take the pan off the burner. The eggs went straight into the garbage. Chanyeol went straight to his phone.

The bedroom still smelled like her. He ignored it as he went to the bed and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. His phone was face up on the end table. He couldn’t remember whether he’d left it that way or not, but figured it no longer mattered. A swipe of his thumb unlocked it, and he saw the email from his manager was still open. It was mostly cheerleading, encouragement not to waste time waiting around for an answer on the bid when he had so many other projects going on. Chanyeol took a slow breath, held it tight in his lungs, and went back to his inbox.

In a way, he was grateful the message was from Kyungsoo. He was always to the point, and never came up with bullshit, click-bait subject lines. _The Wedding_ was pretty self-explanatory—and the exact opposite of click-bait. Every part of Chanyeol was against opening that email. His hands were uncooperative as he tried. His brain did all it could to keep the words fuzzy. His stomach lurched when his eyes finally focused, expecting the worst. But though Kyungsoo could be ruthless, he also knew when to be kind, and there was nothing in the body of the email to directly indicate whose wedding it even was. He could have even been talking about his own if he weren’t such a workaholic. Chanyeol wanted to think the invitation would have been a little more formal (and a little more obvious) if that were the case, though. Besides, there was only one wedding Kyungsoo could be talking about travelling to together. Minseok and Yixing had already had theirs, almost a lifetime ago, so it wasn’t hard at all to find Baekhyun’s name tucked between the lines.

He didn’t notice his hands were shaking until he brought one to the back of his neck. The trembling triggered chills different from the ones that simple subject line had brought. They still ran all the way down his spine, out to the tips of his fingers and toes. He was numb as he opened a reply and fumbled over a quick message about still waiting on his invitation. There was no reason to guilt Kyungsoo over any of this though, so he deleted and tried again. _Are you asking me to be your plus-one? What if I already have a date, Kyungsoo-yah?_ He hit send before he could think about it. Humor and deflection would have to work for now. Maybe Kyungsoo would read between the lines, too.

It was strange to realize that he didn’t have any tears left for this. He could feel the weight of his heart in his chest, dried and petrified. He wasn’t even sure when he’d actually cried the last of them; maybe sometime between Minseok’s (and Baekhyun’s) enlistment and Joonmyun’s. He remembered being glued to the Internet the day after Baekhyun left. He had been frustrated that there were no activities to dive into, but more frustrated that half of the comments he read were surprised they hadn’t gone together. It felt like the world could see right through him in that moment. All of the extra touches and jokes and selcas with everyone who _wasn’t_ him had proven nothing. The red string held true, and there was only one person who refused to see it.

Chanyeol heaved a sigh and set his phone down once more. His fingers found each other, knitting together tight and coming to rest between his knees. He wondered how long it would take for the public to catch wind of this. If they’d had paper invitations printed, the public probably already knew. Though there were no tears, there remained a lot of discomfort at the idea that the whole world knew before he did. At the very least, it didn’t sit right that even just Kyungsoo knew before he did. Years ago he wouldn’t have even questioned that he would be next in line after family. He might have even been treated like family. He might have been the first to know, might have helped to choose the ring, the venue, and decide whether they should have it in autumn or spring. He forfeited all of that when he made the decision to pull away though, and learned his lesson for it, too. If you love something so much, the last thing you should do is let go.

He thought about dragging himself downstairs to check for an invitation, but the thought of an empty mailbox stopped him. No, the best thing to do for now was to get out of the apartment. The summer sun and city air would take his mind off things. It was still a struggle to get off the bed again, but as long as he kept his hands reaching for new holds he was safe. One took up his phone to browse his contacts while the other sought out the window. He dialled the first name that felt right, praying he’d luck out on his first swing. The window wouldn’t budge with with left hand, so he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder to heft it with both. As the window finally gave way, his phone slipped and fell to the floor. Kibum was greeted with a crash onto hardwood and a loud swear of surprise from Chanyeol.

“Sorry, _hyung_!” he called as he rushed to retrieve his phone.

“Isn’t it a little too early for prank calls, Channie?”

“The window was sticking, and I dropped my phone.”

“Mm.” It was likely a side effect of the rest of his stress, but Chanyeol wasn’t entirely sure whether Kibum was upset or not. He almost shifted back to the bed to sit again, but thankfully, Kibum continued. “So what’s the occasion?”

His words could not have been chosen more poorly. Chanyeol opted for a half-truth. “We had another argument.”

“Did she leave again?” Now his tone was clearer: sympathy without pity. Chanyeol tried to relax a little.

“I think we broke up,” he said, a breath of derisive laughter following.

“You _think_?”

“Are you busy this morning? I mean, would you have time to eat with me?”

The extended pause on the other end brought a lump of fear to Chanyeol’s throat. “I always have time for you. Did you want to go out?”

“Please. I can’t be in this apartment anymore.”

 

# # #

Kibum was in the mood for Western, so that was what they sought out. The steaming stack of pancakes he ordered, topped with fruit and cream, dwarfed Chanyeol’s eggs and potatoes. He still didn’t have much of an appetite though, so the smaller plate was for the best. “So what happened?” Kibum said, taking up a tiny glass pitcher of syrup.

“I told her I was taking the weekend off.” Chanyeol shrugged as he picked up his fork. “Then something came up.”

“An actual something, or cold feet something?”

“An actual something…”

Kibum set the pitcher down and began to slice into the stack. “Was it about the drama?”

“No. I had an email from my manager, but it wasn’t anything.”

“What did you decide was more important than honoring a promise to your long-suffering girlfriend, then?”

Chanyeol stuffed a large bite of omelet into his mouth. Kibum rolled his eyes as Chanyeol took his time chewing, but took the chance to start eating himself. The server came by to check on them; they each nodded and hummed their reply. When Kibum swallowed his bite first though, he was done waiting—and showed it with a light kick to Chanyeol’s shin. “You didn’t ask me to come watch you mope about this.”

He murmured a “sorry, hyung” as he decided whether Kibum was right about that. “I got an email from Kyungsoo.” Immediately, Kibum was unimpressed, so Chanyeol quickly added, “Baekhyun’s getting married.”

Kibum’s expression began to run the gamut of emotions: surprise to confusion to apprehension. Chanyeol shifted in his seat and dropped his fork and eyes back to his plate. He didn’t want to watch as Kibum processed the news, afraid he might see a little pity after all. “Is– Did he at least–?” Chanyeol wished the crunch of his toast were just loud enough to drown out the sound of Kibum spluttering for words. When he at last settled on a soft and sad, “Channie…” it was the last thing Chanyeol wanted to hear.

“It’s not like I didn’t see it coming or anything. Really, how long have they been together? Three years? And she makes him even happier than Taeyeon. It’s not a surprise.” He set his fork by his plate so he could cross his arms. His skin prickled, a now familiar shiver coursing through him. It was a peculiar kind of upset, not quite anger but not exactly sadness either. It stank mostly of resignation and defeat.

Kibum sighed and brought his hands to his lap, staring forlornly at his pancakes. Then, just above a whisper, “You promised me you were over this.”

“I lied.”

There was a heavy pause before Kibum said, “You didn’t lie about not telling him, did you?”

“I kind of wish I had told him.”

“It’s better that you didn’t.”

“Why? It’s not like things would be any different than they are now. I spend more time with _you_ than I do with him.”

“He thinks you’re happy–”

“I’m not. I’m not at all. I’m…” Chanyeol let himself trail off before his heat could get the better of him. There was no sense in making a scene; they’d been lucky and he didn’t need to ruin it. “I’m–” Somewhere inside of him tears tried to pool. He would not let them. “I miss him.”

“Chanyeol.” Kibum sized him up carefully, but only once did Chanyeol glance up to catch it. The feel of his eyes on him was enough, as unsettling as the shiver beneath his skin. “The only person who’s gone anywhere is you.”

 

 

 

 

 

> Because losing someone isn’t an occasion or an event. It doesn’t just happen once. It happens over and over again.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> —Lang Leav, “Losing You”

 

 

 

The day was far too warm, even by the river, but Chanyeol hadn't wanted to go home after breakfast. He didn't like the way Kibum's words had settled over him like a wet blanket, when all he'd wanted was a little campfire company. _He_ hadn’t been the one to go anywhere. He’d buried himself in his work, maybe a little too well at times, but more than one person could attest that he was better at returning calls than anyone. But Baekhyun never called anymore. He never messaged and they barely even spoke anymore if they weren’t at rehearsal together. Chanyeol could still feel his amazement when Baekhyun had appeared at his last movie premiere. And he remembered the laughter in Baekhyun’s face at seeing the look on his. The sting of embarrassment had long-since faded, but the confusion likely never would. What other reaction was there for someone who had practically come back from the dead just to see him?

Chanyeol let his eyes fall shut, sighing gently through his nose. The babbling of the water was barely audible over the life of the city and not enough to distract him from his thoughts or the heat. It was only as the first bead of sweat trickled down the back of his neck that he realized he’d forgotten sunscreen before leaving home. Pity, and almost enough to make him turn back despite his restless head and feet. The thing that stopped him then was the unexpected—and somewhat undesired—buzz of his phone in his pocket. The name he found raised his eyebrows, but the thought of speaking even with Kyungsoo kept his thumb hovering over “ignore” instead. It took only the shadow of the next building and the cool relief from the summer sun for him to change his mind.

Ducking between buildings, Chanyeol just barely caught the call before it went to voicemail anyway. An apology in lieu of a hello was met with a soft noise of surprised acknowledgement. Then Kyungsoo said, “I assumed you were going.”

“I know.”

“Baekhyun said he was inviting you.”

“He hasn’t yet,” Chanyeol said, punctuating it with a laugh that didn’t try to conceal its ruefulness.

“He will,” Kyungsoo said. Even now Chanyeol could hear that slightest difference—in tone, in pitch, in _something_ —that made it obvious when Kyungsoo didn’t quite believe himself. This time though, as with so many others before, Chanyeol pretended to be convinced anyway.

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Kyungsoo gave a tiny sigh on the other end. Chanyeol could hear the frown and flared nostrils that accompanied it. He also heard the unspoken promise within it: _I’ll talk to him._ Their steadfast go-between for the last several years, Kyungsoo was reliable, but tired. Chanyeol could relate.

“We’ll make plans later. I have a full day,” Chanyeol said.

“All right.”

Chanyeol bade the quickest farewell before hanging up. He considered silencing his phone before putting it away, but with the luck he’d already been having that probably wasn’t the best idea. Then again, with that same luck, the only phone call his manager was likely to make at this point was one to give him more bad news.

With a heavy sigh, Chanyeol leaned back against the cool brick of one of the buildings. Though the upset ran deep, at his core Chanyeol was unsettled more by his inability to overcome it. This wasn’t like him. Maybe it was because he’d spent too much time burying instead of confronting. Maybe it was because of how blindsided he’d felt back then that he’d never given himself the chance to recover enough to see straight again. Whatever the reason, the weight was _heavy_ , and even he knew that the slump of his shoulders was at last beginning to show. There was only one thing left to do…but, first, he needed to get out of this heat.

Flagging a cab was more difficult than he remembered, but his luck finally took a turn for the better when the driver either didn’t recognize him or didn’t care to hassle him. His destination was a place he hadn’t lived in years, not since the very beginning, when nothing but promise laid before them. As long as that café was still nearby though, it would be worth the trip down memory lane.

 

 

_Chanyeol flops onto the bottom bunk with an exhausted but satisfied sigh. The bedroom is a sea of suitcases and miscellany, but there would be plenty of time to sort it later. Tonight is the first night all together, and he isn’t going to spend it organizing. Besides, after landing in the comfiest spot on the bed, he has no plans to move out of it any time soon. And he doesn’t have to, either: Kyungsoo lost fair and square, so dinner is his responsibility._

_“I’m pretty sure I remember calling dibs on the bottom bunk.” Chanyeol lifts his head just enough to see Baekhyun in the doorway, hands on his hips and a pout on his face. It catches Chanyeol off-guard, but maybe he’s just too used to the way Jongin quietly bullies his way into getting what he wants._

_“I’m pretty sure I was here first, thus negating your dibs.”_

_Baekhyun scoffs and wrinkles his nose. “Do you even know how dibs work?” He joins Chanyeol on the bed, shoving his legs out of the way to make room to sit. Chanyeol whines to mourn the loss of his comfy place, and Baekhyun pointedly ignores it. “Rock, paper, scissors,” he says. Chanyeol groans, louder this time, which earns him a smack on the leg. “Either we play or I bring_ hyung _into the argument and we settle it that way.”_

_Chanyeol doesn’t groan again, but he’s slow to sit up and takes his time getting comfortable. Baekhyun’s attention doesn’t last long in his annoyance, and that’s exactly what Chanyeol had been counting on. Baekhyun had been easy to read, and already Chanyeol’s confident he knows more about him, open book that he is, than Baekhyun even realizes._

_Before he even open his mouth to speak, Baekhyun is up off the bed again and making a beeline for something across the room. Even when he’s coming back with Chanyeol’s acoustic, his motivations aren’t clear. His interest doesn’t wane _that_ quickly, does it? Baekhyun lays the case on the floor to open it, and gingerly lifts the guitar to hand it to Chanyeol. There’s unfettered mischief in his face when he finally meets Chanyeol’s confused gaze, and it fans an ember somewhere deep inside of him._

_“New game. Play something good, and you can have the bottom bunk.”_

_“‘Something good?’” Chanyeol laughs, looking down at his guitar as if it might hold answers. “That’s a little broad, don’t you think?”_

_“If you’re gonna be a dick about my dibs, I’m gonna give it right back to you.”_

_Chanyeol laughs again, more heartily and with a somewhat shy grin. He’s already racking his brain for something that might fit Baekhyun’s vague and only rule. Even in the short time they’ve known each other, they’ve already talked about so much music. He’s still thinking when another curious voice pipes up from the doorway._

_“Ooh, what are you playing?” Sehun asks. He’s just a head floating in the corridor, peeking around the doorjamb presumably on his way towards the kitchen to hover over Kyungsoo while he cooks. His funeral, as far as Chanyeol’s concerned, but his nonchalance turns immediately to something pricklier when Sehun decides to join them instead. He only barely swallows his protest when Baekhyun scoots over to make room for Sehun to sit. He doesn’t like it anymore than he understands it, so he chooses instead to sweep it under the rug and make room, too._

 

 

Chanyeol was half-blind from staring up at that building before he finally turned away from it. Even if the weather wasn’t so brutal, today wasn’t a good day for this. There wasn’t _any_ day that would be good for this, and remembering shit like the first time he and Baekhyun goofed around to Jason Mraz together wasn’t good for him, either. Forty-degree weather made it completely impossible to be chill anyway. It was time to find that café.

 

# # #

One large iced coffee and three autographs later, Chanyeol decided to head home. With too much on his mind, it was worryingly difficult to ignite his usual spark, even in front of such eager and surprised fans. Today was a day best spent at home after all—even if it didn’t exactly feel like home at the moment.

It was only after he’d settled in again, shoes at the door and fingertips testing the sunburn across his cheeks, that Chanyeol remembered he was alone. The argument felt like it had happened forever ago, as if that morning had been a different time altogether. (In some ways, he mused, it was.) The silence was too much, so he went to dock his iPod before heading to the bathroom for skin cream. Hitting shuffle play, he left the music to do as it would. That turned out to be a move almost as bad as his turn down memory lane. Life had a sense of humor today, and it wasn’t going to stop just because he’d decided to try hiding from the rest of the world. Instead of doubling back, Chanyeol just let the track play on. His English never had quite improved enough that much of the song made sense. What little did come through was as poignant as it was painful, and only part of that was because of the irony of the shuffle starting with Jason Mraz.

_If it’s a broken part, replace it. If it’s a broken arm, then brace it—_

Chanyeol shut the door to drown out the words, but was a breath away from humming along with the song anyway. He held it instead to keep from fogging the mirror as he examined his pink cheeks. The burn wasn’t bad, and only stung a little as he smoothed moisturizer over it. His breath came out in a huff of rueful laughter at the thought that came to mind: _if only there were a cream for burned relationships._ Face shining, Chanyeol went to stop his iPod just as it cued up yet another track he didn’t want to listen to. Perhaps composing would prove a bit safer than the passivity of listening and regretting.

The mess of sheet music he’d been working on a few nights ago was still splayed across the desk. A pen held his place at the end of a phrase which, even just looking at it, felt as wrong now as it had then. He wasn’t in the headspace to deal with another mess though, and looked to his guitars instead. Whatever it was that swirled in his chest wasn’t something he really wanted to write down. He needed to find the eye of the storm first, that point of clarity before he could start putting things behind him. It took only a few moments of strumming for him to realize that for now he’d be lucky just to find notes that didn’t echo in the emptiness of the apartment in all the wrong ways.

And so he turned at last to his laptop. While that was new, the keyboards were old friends. He booted the computer up while he made himself comfortable at the keys, the broad spread of his fingers finding ghost chords. This part was like a ritual, the foreplay before he began the real work of pulling out just the right sounds and of letting his own fingers surprise him with their knowledge and nuance. He reached for his headset, their sound-dampening being what had drawn him to sit in the first place. Nothing echoed with his headphones on unless he willed it so. Nothing permeated or interfered, not even quiet calls to come to bed. In this space, he was alone by choice because sometimes, lately, he just didn’t want to talk to anyone at all anymore.

A few clicks was all it took to start up that familiar hum of promise. Middle C to test the volume; one step down to B to make sure he raised it high enough; one step further to A where he lingered, letting the note fade slowly into nothing. Then his fingers began to find their way, perhaps triggered by the silence. It took him one phrase too many to realize just how familiar the tune was.

 

 

_Although he’s been at it for hours, Chanyeol hasn’t made as much progress in his composition as he’d hoped to. He knows he has to sleep soon; their schedule for tomorrow is tighter than it’s been in years. It’s an effort to squeeze in a few more appearances before he and Jongdae leave, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t exhausted just from the thought of it. The soft jazz he’s been toying with is extra-soothing, a quiet escape from worries about tomorrow’s early start._

_Just as he hits play to listen to it again (another futile attempt to figure out what’s wrong with the bass line), a hand drops over his shoulder. He startles and jerks his headphones off, but relaxes when he sees it’s only Baekhyun. That mischievous smirk hadn’t changed even after twenty-two months of active duty. “Can’t sleep?”_

_“Trying to figure this out.” Chanyeol gestures at the screen, which is nothing but a series of unintelligible bars. Baekhyun nods sagely anyway. He looks around before pulling up a chair and inviting himself into Chanyeol’s space._

_Chanyeol is happy to let him. Things are different since Baekhyun’s return. They’re becoming close again. They’re working on songs together. Baekhyun has time for him now after his consignment—and the break-up. Twenty-two months of sweating out frustration had brought back a better, stronger friend for them to welcome home. And Chanyeol doesn’t feel nearly as guilty for it as he knows he should. He’s just happy to have his friend back, and he doesn’t have much time left to enjoy it before they’ll separate again._

_So what Baekhyun says next is a blow he never saw coming. “You remember that person I wrote to you about?”_

_Chanyeol laughs because of course he remembers those letters. It was such a strange thing that Baekhyun had insisted on, but he still has all of them tucked away in a drawer. “Yeah. What about him?”_

_“She’s coming home next month.” Baekhyun must have noticed the way Chanyeol’s hand slipped because his next words are even more delicate. “I wondered, if you had time before bootcamp, if you’d want to meet her.”_

 

 

Chanyeol’s hand stilled on the keyboard in much the same way as it had then. Three years later, he finally knew what to call what he felt for Baekhyun: _selfish_. He recalled his stilted laughter, stiff expression, and the way he couldn’t look at Baekhyun as he breathed the most difficult “of course I would” of his life. He’d never told a bolder lie but Baekhyun hadn’t left him any options. He’d just gotten his friend back only to be told he was losing him again. He’d spent his own two years of frustration in silence, glad to be in a sea of strangers. Baekhyun had received none of the angry, confused letters Chanyeol had written for him every week. Chanyeol had burned them all.

 

 

 

Each of us has his own rhythm of suffering.  
—Roland Barthes

 

 

 

 

The crack of plastic slamming against hardwood flooring jolted Chanyeol awake. His face hurt, angry red indents from his keyboard making his face throb as he dropped to the floor to feel for his phone. The screen was intact, but even his bleary vision could make out his manager’s name. He answered, barely intelligible. Thankfully, that was ignored in favor of announcing some long-awaited good news.

“You got the part. Filming starts next month.” There was a pause in which Chanyeol vaguely recalled a buzz of excitement, and his pulse pounding in his ears. “Probably some early mornings, to start.”

“Ah, that’s really great news. I’m glad. Will–” Chanyeol just barely stopped himself from asking a dumb question as wakefulness hit him full-force. He’d fallen asleep in his studio last night, in his empty apartment, trying to pretend yesterday hadn’t even happened. What would something like “free time” even matter to him? Free time for _what_? “Do I have a co-star yet?”

“Not yet, but hopefully by this afternoon. I’ll call you as soon as I know.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Early mornings,” his manager repeated before ending the call. Chanyeol filed the hint away for later, and set his phone aside. A nudge of the track pad revealed exactly what he feared: he’d gone back to trying to work out that bass line. And he didn’t seem to have made much progress with it. A couple of clicks tucked it away back where it belonged, in a nested folder and hidden alongside a few other tracks he didn’t care to think about. Then he glanced at his watch and scooped up his phone again.

It was already mid-morning, but the only person trying to contact him besides his manager was Kyungsoo. There were no messages from his girlfriend—no angry SMS, no long-winded break-up email, not even an accidental call. Worried and disappointed at once, he was about to tuck his phone into his pocket when one SMS did come through. His heart leapt into his throat only to plummet back down into his stomach again when he read the name attached to it. Apparently Life had a round two in store, and it had gotten Baekhyun in on the joke this time. His appetite hadn’t even gotten a chance to form, and likely wasn’t going to surface any time soon, but Chanyeol went to cook breakfast anyway. If nothing else, it would be a distraction while he figured out what he was going to say to Kyungsoo.

It became easier to ignore his phone the longer he did it. Making breakfast and then forcing it down gave him the distraction he’d been hoping for since waking. It was mindless, and so he sought out other mindless tasks to busy himself. The pile of dishes he’d left yesterday morning weren’t going to do themselves. Hand-drying them each would avoid water spots and, while he was at it, maybe it was time to rearrange the cabinets. After the cabinets, there was no sense in stopping, especially when he knew his studio was a mess. There was a pile of CDs in the living room that were begging to be put away, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d re-alphabetized their DVDs. When his heart noticed his mind’s misstep, Chanyeol decided to tidy up his studio first.

About half an hour into the process, now with more sheet music strewn across the desk than he’d begun with, Chanyeol’s phone began to ring. The buzzing was loud enough to hear across the apartment, the vibrations practically drilling it into the table where he’d left it. (Whether accidentally or incidentally, he was no longer sure.) He waited with held breath for it to finish, and when it did he went right back to sorting through his music. But then the buzzing began again, without any room for a voicemail in between. _Kyungsoo must be worried,_ he told himself as he stood. The rest of him wasn’t so convinced. That was the part that was nothing but resigned when he saw Baekhyun’s name and face lighting up the screen.

With a quick breath in a lame attempt to steady himself, Chanyeol answered.

“Hi.” Baekhyun sounded as unsure about the call as Chanyeol did, but somehow that brought no relief. “Did you get my message?”

Chanyeol hummed in the affirmative. He hoped his voice didn’t sound as high and strained as it felt. If it did, Baekhyun ignored it and kept talking.

“Are you free tonight? I wanted to talk to you.”

A million excuses raced towards Chanyeol’s mouth at once, ranging from believable claims of a meeting with his manager to crazier stories about hunting down his ex-girlfriend. Maybe he already had plans with Kyungsoo or Sehun, or he was going out to breakfast with Kibum except it was already after lunchtime by now. The ringing in his ears wasn’t enough to drown out the dead silence between them as Baekhyun waited for whatever it was Chanyeol could muster. What finally came out seemed to surprise them both equally. “Y-yeah. Let’s meet at my dad’s new place.”

“…Sure.”

They hung up quickly after agreeing on a time, each one trying to beat the other to it. When Chanyeol was left with his phone in his hand again, screen now black and slightly ominous, he heard a new sound in the quiet of the apartment. Beneath the dull roar of nothing was his pulse banging out a nervous tempo, and the soft, unmistakable sound of the finality in Baekhyun’s voice.

 

# # #

Perhaps the worst part about getting dressed was that the bedroom was spotless. It was difficult to know what to wear—a hoodie and jeans somehow didn’t seem right anymore—but the stark, unbearable reminder of yesterday was almost too much. His nerves were strung taut and out of tune, and seeing her in every corner plucked at each string. It was more cacophony than melody. In the end, Chanyeol threw on a sweater and slacks just so he could leave, and spent a couple of hours tooling around with the in-house drum kit while he waited.

Chanyeol had just helped himself to a drink when there was a knock at the window. Baekhyun waved without a smile. Chanyeol took his glass to the door. “I’m a little early,” Baekhyun said, laughing awkwardly and eyeing the drink in Chanyeol’s hand.

“You’re fine.” Chanyeol decided not to joke about how he’d been so much earlier, but regretted it as silence began to settle in almost at once. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Water, please,” came Baekhyun’s immediate reply. Chanyeol didn’t waste another breath in turning to get it for him. It was easy to ignore how badly his hands shook as he ducked behind the bar. Baekhyun made himself as comfortably as he would without further invite; he was still standing when Chanyeol brought a bottle of water to him, and only uncrossed his arms to accept it. “This place is nice.”

“Bigger than the other,” Chanyeol said.

Baekhyun hummed, looking anywhere but at Chanyeol. Chanyeol couldn’t look anywhere else. He was trying to remember the last time they’d been alone in a room together by choice. “How’s the drama going?”

He hesitated a beat before deciding Kyungsoo must have said something about it. “It’s going well. I got the part.”

“Hey, that’s great.”

“Yeah.”

Chanyeol finished off his drink in one last gulp. At least the alcohol was warming him up to the idea of trying to have a conversation. It was so strange to see Baekhyun now, as if seeing him for the first time all over again. There was none of that magic of course, but still he felt something in him take the same way it had on that very first day, when they’d locked eyes and he’d just _known_ Baekhyun was something special to him. With just a single look, Chanyeol had looked destiny in the face and had decided to chase it. And now, knowing better, he turned away from it instead, to head back to the bar for another drink.

“I wasn’t,” Baekhyun began, a little too loud. When Chanyeol stopped mid-step to listen Baekhyun seemed to lose his nerve. His voice was softer when he tried again. “I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to be there.”

Chanyeol turned to him with confusion, and hurt he had never quite learned how to hide. “Why wouldn’t I want to be there?”

The look Baekhyun gave in response was both pointed and guarded. Although he finally met Chanyeol’s gaze, there wasn’t anything in it that Chanyeol wanted to see. It was mostly reluctance, with a little bit of resignation. It reminded him a lot of Baekhyun’s tone of voice when they’d set up the meeting in the first place. “Why wouldn’t I want to come to your wedding?” Chanyeol asked, forcing the words out in an attempt at peace-making. They all but crawled up his throat to be spoken, but he’d managed and so could Baekhyun.

“We were worried it might be too hard for you,” Baekhyun mumbled. The bottle of water was immediately in his mouth, as if to wash away the taste of his admission. Chanyeol was glad, then, that Baekhyun couldn’t look at him. He wouldn’t see the way confusion opened into frustrated realization, and a kind of hurt that caught Chanyeol completely off-guard.

“ _We?_ ”

“Not– I mean _me_. Kyungsoo. Jongdae.” Baekhyun shifted his weight, but didn’t dare bring the bottle to his lips again. “Lots of people. I mean, considering how you took it in the first place when we started dating—”

“You had _just_ come home.” Chanyeol reached to set the glass down, and balled his hands at his sides immediately after. “And you’d been a mess when you left in the first place. You _ran away_ from everyone who wanted to help you through—”

“I needed time to myself for a change. It was too much to deal with at once, and I needed to deal with it on my own.”

“And all you did was bring back someone else in the end anyway.” Chanyeol took a long, deep breath to keep himself from saying something worse. “You’d already been gone, even before you enlisted. I thought I was finally going to get to spend time with you again.”

“Chanyeol, we _lived_ together. We shared a living space for half a decade, and for a lot of that we even shared a bedroom. I’m allowed to have a life outside of you.”

“Having a life outside of me requires me to actually be in your life.”

Baekhyun scoffed, and swung away from him, towards the door. The look on his face didn’t match the frustration in his sigh, though. If anything, he looked afraid. “Chanyeol, it’s never going to be like you want it to be.”

Even as he felt the blood draining from his face—in horror, mortification, or maybe he own brand of fear—Chanyeol scraped up enough audacity to ask, “What are you trying to say?”

At last, Baekhyun’s patience ran out. All traces of apprehension were replaced with determination when he turned back to Chanyeol. Somehow that only made Chanyeol angrier. “It’s pretty obvious how you feel about me.”

“Frustrated? Angry? Left behind?” Chanyeol folded his arms, but shrunk back against the bar. Lately he was always just a little too late in realizing his stupid mistakes. He should have just hashed this out over the phone.

“I haven’t _gone_ anywhere! You’re the one who’s been pushing me away all these years. You’re the one who needed time alone to deal with things first, who wouldn’t let me help you when I know you needed me, because you were too busy being selfish.”

“You were so happy while I was falling apart! I wasn’t going to ruin that for you.”

“You don’t think I didn’t see that? You don’t think it hurt to have you lying to me instead of talking to me? You weren’t worried about ruining things. You were angry that I wasn’t suffering with you. You were still dealing with the realization your feelings for me were one-sided when everything started going to shit. And I can tell just from looking at you that nothing’s changed.”

Chanyeol set his jaw and finally pulled his gaze away from Baekhyun. He could feel everything in him draining out and onto the floor, spilling out as if Baekhyun had just sliced him open. Even now, neither of them had the guts to call his feelings by name. He didn’t think he’d ever have the guts to call _anything_ love, but definitely not whatever it was he’d always felt for and seen in Baekhyun. That was something big, and he’d been too afraid to ever name it. It had changed him in an instant, had held him together as everything had fallen apart, had kept him upright if only in the blind, stupid hope that he might someday find that same spark in someone else. He’d finally come close again…but he’d pushed her away, too.

“Even now you’re just selfish. You’re myopic. And the worst part is that you won’t even see it.”

All his life, Chanyeol had chased after ideals, always knowing better than to think he’d ever catch the exact thing he set out to find. It was the chase that was important, the changes that came with the journey that made you stronger and smarter. The day he’d met Baekhyun was a turning point in which he realized that the old saying _was_ true, that there existed people whom you could meet once and simply _know_. Along the way he’d also learned that just because you felt it, even if you felt it and wanted it so deeply your bones ached, a feeling alone could not make a person yours.

“And that stupid selfishness is the real reason we don’t talk anymore–”

“Why did you even ask to meet if you just wanted to say these kinds of things to me?”

Chanyeol’s sudden return to the conversation, or what had truly turned into Baekhyun unloading years of his own frustrations onto him, threw him off completely. It quieted the storm in an instant, and Baekhyun wobbled slightly from the change in air pressure. Chanyeol kept his gaze trained on the floor, but he didn’t need to look at Baekhyun’s face to hear the change in it. “Because I’ve missed you. Because I hate you for being so fucking stupid, but I still want my best friend at my wedding.”

They stood for an eternity in a silence that was too familiar. Chanyeol knew it was different from the one in his apartment, though the fury and buried feelings in were similar. They came from the same place, played to the same racing beat of his heart, but sang two different tunes. “Have Kyungsoo tell me what you finally decide.” Baekhyun didn’t slam the door behind him the way Chanyeol thought he might want to. Chanyeol decided to have one more drink before going home.

 

 

 

Can we wake up now  
to a life of happiness?  
Can we be content?  
—Tyler Knott Gregson

 

 

 

Chanyeol wasn’t drunk when he arrived at his apartment again. He wasn’t even buzzed. And he didn’t want to be. The nausea in the wake of their argument had only been compounded by the alcohol, and he’d lingered another fifteen agonizing minutes waiting for the churning in his stomach to still long enough to hail a cab. Even now he didn’t trust his head, and left the lights off as he shuffled his way inside.

The night was early yet, but he’d had enough of the day. As he brushed his teeth, he considered falling asleep at his keyboard again, but the tumult was still too much. All the way home he’d teetered on the brink of an epiphany, but had yet to find a way to tip the scales towards understanding. Ironically, he needed more distance, and more time to think things through.

Both head and heart were heavy when he finally fell into bed without even bothering to change. When he turned to reach into his back pocket for his phone, the pillow greeted him with a welcome scent. It smelled like her, and he breathed deeply before settling back down again. It was easier in the dark, more comforting to smell a reminder of her than to see her absence. Even if it didn’t quite make sense to him, one look at his phone and the continued lack of contact from her drove the point home. They must have really meant it, after so many false starts. Yet their ending hadn’t sparked the new beginning with Baekhyun he might have expected. He didn’t want to think their ending was meant to begin his career in dramas, so he buried that fear alongside all the rest and opened up a new message to Kyungsoo. He hadn’t decided a thing about the wedding, but figured it couldn’t hurt to keep their middle-man in the loop. Even if he didn’t, Baekhyun surely would, and just in case, Chanyeol decided to leave out most of the grittier details of their exchange. There was no point in putting Kyungsoo in an even more compromising position than what he was already subject to.

Chanyeol opened his contacts, scrolling through for one in particular. The photo was barely even of her and more a reminder of her. They’d taken photos of each other taking photos of each other. He set his phone in the blankets and got up to get his iPod from the dock in the living room. The dim glow of the city cast an eerie light in the room, more than enough to see by but giving everything long, dark shadows. He took his iPod and clutched it close as he hurried back to the bedroom. It was smaller, more densely packed with furniture, and the lingering smell of her settled him when his childish thoughts got the best of him. She’d always known when to play along with the monsters, and when to thwart them before they got out of hand—both the real and the imaginary ones.

Tonight Chanyeol intentionally cued up one of his favorite playlists. It was one he’d made a lifetime ago, something to soothe him into sleep when he was first spending nights alone. He’d still sometimes use it even after she’d started spending more and more nights with him, enough that she began to learn the words to some of the tracks. Enough that she’d slowly sneaked in a few tracks of her own to fill out the mix, and turn it into something subtly theirs in an apartment that often felt only like his.

When a particular song began, it pressed hard on a nerve within him. He was too frayed from the weekend not to feel it and too tired to ignore it, so he fumbled for his phone. One could only tolerate so much irony and coincidence before having to step back and accept that just maybe the universe wasn’t being funny, rather trying to make a ham-fisted point. But he couldn’t help his surprise when she answered on the first ring.

“What.”

“ _Jagi_.” It had rolled so naturally off his tongue, with a laugh at himself and a whine at her. His heart was always ready to pick up right where things had left off, even when his head knew better.

“Don’t.” Her voice was thick, but unsteady. He knew the sound far too well for a boyfriend of less than a year. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” When she scoffed, he continued. “Please. Just ten, five minutes.”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t just hang up on you right now instead.”

“Because you picked up in the first place.” She gave an odd sound then, another scoff but only instead of something else. The song crooned on in the background, urging him to keep talking despite her reluctance. “Because somehow this apartment already looks and smells like you even when you’re not here. Because it never even occurred to me that you ever might not be here.” He tripped over his next words more than he spoke them, but just hearing them aloud lifted so much of the weight on his chest. “Because I love you.”

The tears were winning when she spoke again, but her voice was stronger for letting them out. “I can’t keep doing this,” she said.

He didn’t say anything at first, breathing evenly and trying to listen through all the noise in his chest. The song changed to one of his favorites by Jason Mraz, but had actually been one of the track she’d added to the playlist. Hearing it now and staring up at the ceiling in the dark, he couldn’t help wondering if it was meant to be a hint.

_See that girl as her own new world. Though a home is on the surface, she is still a universe._

He hummed along absently until it pulled another soft, sad sound from her. Chanyeol waited another couple of beats, then wet his lips. “I miss you. And the last thing an idiot like me deserves is another chance, but I’m asking anyway.”

After what he swore was the tiniest of laughs, she said, “You really are an idiot.”

“But I could be your idiot.”

When that earned him another shaky sigh, he wondered if he imagined the laughter. “You already are my idiot.”

Chanyeol reached to turn down the music when the track changed again. “I don’t want to belong to anyone else.” A part of him protested then, silent and not buried deep enough for his liking. It wasn’t a whole truth yet but it could be, easily, if only he’d let it. After too many years of running, he thought he might finally be ready to stop, to see home for what it was, and to know that, even now, he was wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> [Only BaekYeol stans remember.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EibblRHmCms)


End file.
